


Somewhere Only We Know

by littlemaple



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cardverse, Christmas Eve, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemaple/pseuds/littlemaple
Summary: Every Christmas, Alfred returns to a clearing in the forest near his parents’ farm where he meets with a strange and sad ghost to whom he feels a deep connection.





	Somewhere Only We Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Another holiday fic! This one was written for the USUK Network Christmas Countdown! It was a colab with chunruu (I wrote the fic, she did the precious art). Check the Tumblr post to see the fic+the art!!! http://usuknetwork.tumblr.com/post/168940056452/usuk-christmas-countdown-2017-december-25-1  
> Happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> Oh, and of course: this fic was inspired by the song "Somewhere only we know", sang by Lily Allen. So if you can, listen to it while you read!

 

**[ ALFRED, AGE 2 ]**

At first, Alfred remembered everything. He remembered every moment, but mostly the anxiety, the pain, the screams, Arthur…

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

But then everything faded slowly, with the pain lingering and making him cry, cry his eyes out, his memories out.

Someone would hold him close when he was crying, and it’d feel weird and wrong but it also would feel safe and warm and he’d calm down.

Then even the pain faded away. He forgot everything except Arthur. Arthur crying and screaming and then nothing else.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 3 ]**

Alfred only knew he liked to watch cartoons and run after the chicken and Santa because he brought lots of gifts. He felt happy. If asked, he’d jump happily and hold up three fat little fingers and grin brightly. That was he. Three years old. He was not a baby. He was mommy’s big boy. He got a dog for his birthday. His name was Jack.  _Alfred_ chose the name because he was a big boy. Sure he had nightmares sometimes and he’d wake up screaming and crying and in pain, but that was not his fault.

“You’re okay, honey, mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you,” his mommy would hug him and squeeze him against her chest.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” Alfred would sob. He didn’t know why he was sorry.

“It’s not your fault, honey. It’s just a nightmare.”

Something in the back of his mind would tell him she was wrong, but he didn’t know why so he never said it.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 4 ]**

There was something in the woods calling for him. Almost not at all during Summer, but stronger and stronger as Christmas drew nearer. Alfred loved Christmas. There were lots of candies and lights and it was shiny and pretty. And there was Santa. And then there was the growing anxiety he couldn’t understand just yet.

That Christmas night he sat by the window looking to the woods less than half a mile away and he cried.

He didn’t know why.

He sobbed loudly, his chest aching.

“What’s wrong, chap?” his dad asked.

Alfred did not know what was wrong.

“It’s wrong,” he said.

“What is?”

“Everything.”

There was a brief silence before his dad turned to the kitchen and called for his mommy. Alfred was hugged and spoiled and he was still crying when he fell asleep.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 5 ]**

Whenever Alfred got too agitated, his chest hurt.

His crayon broke while he was drawing one afternoon, and as he stared at the purple broken crayon, he felt angry. Angry and sad because it was his and now it was broken and he could still draw with it, but it was not the same.

So he ripped the paper and threw the other crayons all away because none of them were purple.

His chest started to hurt really bad. He called for mommy and she came running, and she held him and asked what was wrong. He held tight to his own shirt before his mommy pulled his hands away to look at his chest. She didn’t see anything wrong, just the spades-like birthmark in the middle of his chest. It was purple and small.

“I’m angry,” he told his mommy as he cried.

“Why, honey?”

“My purple broke.”

“We can get you another one. No need to be angry.”

They could get a new one but it wouldn’t be the same. He wanted his purple back. So he cried.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 6 ]**

That year Alfred got a chess set for Christmas/Birthday. He had seen someone playing it on the TV earlier that year and he cried out in excitement, pointing to the TV and saying that he wanted one. So his parents gave him one.

He loved it.

At first he had no idea how to move the pieces and he was initially confused by all the rules, but his dad was really patient and taught him everything.

Alfred quickly learned something very important: it was game over if the King died, but the Queen was the most powerful.

He loved the Queen. He did most of his moves with it, and if he lost it he’d give up on the match even if he still had most of his pieces.

“I can’t play with no Queen. He’s the more important!” he’d sniff.

His dad would smile lovingly, “You can still play, Al. And I’ve told you, we use  _she_ for the word  _queen_.”

Alfred would shake his head.

“No, my Queen is he and I love him and I can’t play more if I lose him,” he’d say and then he’d set the pieces in place for a new match.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 7 ]**

Alfred woke up really early that Christmas morning and went to sit by the window in his room. From there he could see the woods. The sun was still hidden and there was snow everywhere. Alfred sat there for a long time, a growing anxiety in his chest, something calling him to the woods. He always had that feeling ever since he could remember, but it grew stronger every year. That year it was so strong he took a deep breath, put on a jacket and boots and his scarf and a hat and went downstairs with a flashlight in hand.

He walked to the woods.

It was so cold and he wasn’t sure where he was going. He had never went to the woods alone. He had only went there with his dad a couple times to get firewood.

Yet there was something soothing calling him. He walked aimlessly, his small feet sinking in the snow and leaving a trail for him to follow on his way back. The sun was coming out and everything looked grey and still.

He reached a small clearing.

There were a few fallen logs almost entirely covered in snow. He waved his flashlight around and caught a glimpse of something, so he flashed it back.

There was someone. It was almost not there, almost too transparent. Alfred knew the name of that: a ghost.

He was afraid of ghosts but that one wasn’t frightening.

The ghost turned when Alfred stepped forward, and Alfred watched his very very green eyes go wide as he stared at Alfred.

He was the most beautiful thing Alfred had ever seen, even if he was so so pale and translucent and a ghost.

Alfred decided his name was Arthur. He didn’t know why.

Arthur fell to his knees. He seemed to be crying but Alfred wasn’t sure.

He said something. Alfred couldn’t hear it.

“I can’t hear you,” he said.

Arthur covered his mouth and looked down for a moment. Then he said something else as he got up and walked to Alfred.

He didn’t leave a snow trail. It was like he wasn’t even there.

He kneeled down again, this time right in front of Alfred. He was talking again, his mouth moving very fast but completely silent.

Alfred simply stared deep into his green green eyes. They looked like jewelry. Something precious. Something to protect.

Arthur reached to touch Alfred’s cheek. He was shaking so much.

His hand passed right through it.

Then Alfred tried to touch the ghost as well, but the same happened.

The ghost was crying and talking.

“I can’t hear you,” Alfred said again. That was making him sad. He wanted to cry. “Can you hear me?”

The ghost nodded.

And then he started to become more and more translucent to the point Alfred could barely see him.

“Don’t go,” he begged.

But the ghost was already gone.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 8 ]**

Alfred knew it without having to check it: the ghost would only be back next Christmas.

He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. Somehow he also knew it had something to do with the sun coming out, that the light would send the ghost away, so he put on his alarm to go off at four in the morning, so he’d have more time to be with the ghost.

He was really curious about him. He had thought about him during the whole year.

He had made drawings of the ghost: a pale face on top of a purple and white cloak.

“Who is that?” his mommy had asked many times.

“Arthur,” he had answered many times.

“And who is that?”

“A ghost.”

His mommy didn’t seem happy about it. Especially when Alfred told her he had met Arthur in the woods. She made Alfred promise he would never, ever, ever go back into the woods.

Alfred promised because he had to, but he would be going there anyway.

He needed to see the ghost again.

He got out of his bed as soon as his alarm went off, and less than five minutes later he was running to the woods, flashlight in hand.

The ghost was there when he arrived and Alfred smiled proudly. The ghost smiled too. He was holding a large piece of paper and he held it to Alfred. Alfred thought it was smart of the ghost since Alfred couldn’t hear him, however…

“I can’t read that,” Alfred said. The paper had lots of weird symbols on it, like the error symbols that would show in a computer sometimes. Alfred didn’t know what they meant.

“What do you want to tell me? Is it important?”

A nod.

“That sucks. I wish I could hear you. Are you a ghost?”

A shake of head. Alfred blinked.

“Then what are you?”

The ghost shrugged.

Alfred sat in a cold, cold log and hugged himself, watching the ghost.

He had so many questions and most of them couldn’t be answered with yes or no.

But since he had no choice he focused on the ones that could.

“You come here every Christmas?”

A hesitant yes.

“You know what Christmas is? It’s my favorite holiday.”

No.

“Aw, it’s like when Santa comes and brings gifts! It’s so cool. Last year I got a chess set. I love chess. Do you like chess?”

Yes.

“Cool! Next year I’ll bring it over so we can play. This is very boring. And cold. Aren’t you cold?”

No. The ghost wrapped himself in his cloak. Alfred smiled.

“Can I call you Arthur?”

The ghost blinked. He looked sad. He nodded.

“Cool. My name’s Alfred! Nice to meet you!”

The ghost nodded.

Alfred made many other questions. He was really excited about Arthur.

There was only so much he could ask with yes and no questions, though, and he was running out of ideas.

He asked if Arthur liked horses (yes), apples (yes), pineapple (no), chicken (he didn’t seem to know what they were). Then the sun was coming up and he was disappearing.

“I see you next year!” Alfred said. Arthur waved goodbye. There was something very very sad in his eyes.

It made Alfred’s chest hurt.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 9 ]**

They played chess that year.

Alfred took his sledge and placed a few things there. His chess set, a blanket, some snacks, some drawings he’d made of Arthur that he wanted to show him, the camera he’d got for his last Birthday with all the cool pictures he’d taken. He dragged the sledge all the way to the clearing at 2:30 AM with a flashlight in hand.

It was so cold.

So cold.

They sat in logs and Alfred showed Arthur all his things (Arthur seemed really confused and intrigued by the camera and the pictures in it) and Arthur smiled and nodded at him and it was very heartwarming.

Then they played chess. They sat next to each other with Alfred wrapped in his blanket. Alfred was the black pieces. He’d make his move, then Arthur would point to what he wanted to move and where, and Alfred would move the piece for him.

He was a great chess player.

They played four matches and Alfred was not even close to winning any of them.

“I won a chess tournament this year. But you’re  _so good_ , it’s unfair! I will train really hard and I’ll defeat you next year!”

Arthur just smiled at that.

Alfred then asked for them to take a picture. But when he looked at it later it was not him and Arthur, it was just him.

It was just him smiling on his own in the dark woods with snow all around him.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 10 ]**

Alfred took the two chess trophies he won that year to prove Arthur how good he was in chess. Still he lost all the three matches they played.

Then he showed all his new pictures and explained each one of them even though there were more than one hundred different pictures. He just wanted Arthur to know about his life.

“I wish you could tell me about your life,” Alfred said.

Arthur nodded. He looked sad.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 11 ]**

That year the heating system broke and Alfred’s room wouldn’t heat up, so his parents bought a space heater for it. So that Christmas, Alfred took the heater with him. He placed it on his sledge and took the portable generator from the shed. Then he went to see Arthur.

Arthur watched him with curiosity as he turned the heater on and sat right in front of it, warming up his gloved hands.

“You don’t have those where you live?” Alfred asked.

Arthur shook his head.

“Can you feel the heat?”

Arthur nodded.

“That’s unfair. I wish I could feel you too.”

Arthur smiled sadly.

Alfred took the new Nintendo he had got earlier that year and showed Arthur his favorite game. He played until dawn.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 12 ]**

“What were you doing in the woods with a generator and a heater, Alfred?” his dad asked.

“You promised you wouldn’t go back there!” his mom yelled.

“I went to see Arthur,” Alfred said.

“Y-you’re too old for imaginary friends, Alfred! This has to stop!”

“He’s not imaginary! He’s real!”

“He’s not real. It’s all in your head!”

“No! No, no, he’s real! ” Alfred cried.

“Go to your room. Think about the danger you were in, going alone to the woods in the middle of the night…”

His parents were really angry about it.

During the whole year, they tried to convince Alfred Arthur was not real. He didn’t show up in pictures, Alfred couldn’t touch him, hear him or see what he’d write. He was just an imaginary friend because Alfred didn’t have many real friends other than the farm animals. That’s what his parents said.

It made Alfred’s chest hurt.

It was a terrible year.

That Christmas Even when Alfred went to bed, his parents locked his bedroom door.

“It’s for your own good,” they said.

Alfred didn’t say anything.

Around 3AM Alfred got dressed, took his flashlight and climbed down his window. There was so much snow, he almost fell from the roof at least three times.

He ran to the clearing. He run like his parents were running after him, and when he reached the clearing and saw Arthur there, he cried.

He sobbed.

He sat down on a wet log and he covered his eyes and sobbed, tugging his own jacket because it hurt, his chest hurt so much.

Arthur was walking around him, trying to get his attention. Alfred raised two very blue and very sad eyes and looked at Arthur.

“Are you real?” he asked.

Arthur nodded.

“My parents say you’re not real. Are you real?”

Arthur nodded again, his lips sealed together in a thin line.

“Please take me away with you. It hurts,” Alfred said, pressing his hand against his chest. Arthur sat in the snow in front of him and looked down. Then he moved his hands around each other and created a small ball of light. It changed colors. White, yellow, green.

Alfred sat there and stared, tears running down his cheeks.

“Make it purple,” he asked.

Arthur did.

The purple light against Arthur’s sad face made the pain grow stronger. Alfred kept staring at it for a long time.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 13 ]**

Arthur didn’t appear in photos. So Alfred focused himself in improving his drawing skills that year. He wanted to be able to draw Arthur in so much detail that his parents would have to believe him about Arthur being real.

He drew as much as he could. He practiced and practiced. He failed a lot and he cried in frustration when things didn’t go as he had planned. But he pushed forward because Alfred Jones never gave up.

By Christmas his drawings were pretty good. His parents were proud of it though they always looked at each other whenever Alfred drew himself in the woods with Arthur.

“Why don’t you try drawing something else, honey?” they’d say.

“I want to draw Arthur,” Alfred would answer.

They locked his door again that year.

Alfred went out the window.

He took his drawing supplies and he asked Arthur to make the magic light again and sit still, so Alfred sat in front of him and made a drawing of his face.

The eyes were kind of lopsided and the eyebrows turned out bigger than they actually were (though they were fairly big already), but it was good. Arthur frowned and pointed to his eyebrows and shook his head, but he was smiling and that meant he liked it.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 14 ]**

Alfred’s parents didn’t like the drawing as much. Alfred was proud of the freckles and lips and hair, but his parents took the paper from him. His mother almost ripped it. His father stopped her.

“This can’t go on! This can’t! This has to stop!” she yelled.

She made Alfred go see a therapist. She showed her the drawing and talked as if Alfred was crazy. Alfred refused to say a single word. He refused to cooperate. He refused to look at his mother when she yelled at him and cried at him and begged him to be  _normal_.

It hurt.

That Christmas Eve while they were having supper in a tense silence Alfred simple got up, went to his room to take his flashlight and put on his hoodie and scarf.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his mother asked.

“To the woods be crazy with my imaginary friend,” he said, then ran away.

Arthur seemed surprised to see him so early.

Alfred took the phone he had got last year and snapped a few pictures of himself with Arthur behind him.

There was only him in the camera and in the pictures. So he drew a stick figure behind him with purple.

Then he sat down and cried.

“My parents think I’m crazy,” he said, “I’m starting to think I am. And then I see you… and I know you’re real… I’m so confused…”

Arthur tried to speak. Alfred couldn’t hear him.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 15 ]**

Alfred was feeling really angry that year.

So he turned to sports.

He started to play football every Saturday, and to go for jogs with Jack every day. He worked really hard in the farm, and he aced PE, Geography and Math at school. He had some friends there, some people he talked about Art and games and sports.

When at home he played a lot of video games and watched a lot of documentaries and he never ever spoke to his parents about Arthur again. When he came back from the woods the previous year his parents tried to yell at him, but he simply walked away and pretended they weren’t there.

They stopped talking about Arthur and they seemed happy Alfred had moved on from that.

That year they invited his mother’s sister over for Christmas. They all cooked together and Alfred helped his father fix the living room TV.

“So, Alfred, do you have any girlfriends yet? A young man like yourself must have a lot of girls going after you, huh?” his aunt asked during supper.

Alfred was in no mood for that. He had heard his parents whispering to each other earlier, wondering whether Alfred would try to go out to the woods again.

“I’m gay,” he said.

His aunt choked on her peas.

“Oh, uh… well… uh, good for you, honey. A-and, uh…. How about, uh, University? Where you’re thinking about studying?”

“I don’t want to go to Uni. I want to take care of the farm.”

Both his aunt and his mother seemed stunned at that.

Alfred got up.

“Where are you going?” his father asked, getting up as well.

“Where do you think?” Alfred said.

“Al, we can’t let you…” his mother started, but Alfred just rolled his eyes and left.

Arthur was waiting for him as always.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 16 ]**

“We’re going to New York to your aunt’s house for Christmas this year,” his mother announced proudly December 22.

“We’re  _what_?!” Alfred said.

“New York. We’re going there for Christmas. It’ll be good for us.”

“I’m not going,” Alfred answered.

“Yes, you are. We are leaving today. You are going to put some clothes in your bag, and you’re getting into the car and we’re going to drive away. It will be good for you. It’s about time, Alfred.”

Alfred yelled. He yelled and he screamed and he tried his best to convince his parents to stay. But to no avail.

His father held his arm really tight and forced him to get into the car.

Both his chest and his arm hurt for hours and hours.

He felt anxious and depressed and angry. He refused to eat supper and he refused to open his gifts. He just sat in a corner and fidgeted with his phone.

“You’ll thank us for this later. You can’t see it now but you’ll see it eventually,” his mother said in their way back.

Alfred didn’t answer.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 17 ]**

They’d go to New York again that year.

Alfred knew that before his parents even told him.

So a few days before the day they’d leave, he went to the clearing to leave a message for Arthur, to let him know Alfred was okay, but…

He couldn’t find it.

He walked the same path he always walked, but he couldn’t find it. It was like it wasn’t there. Like it wasn’t real.

Alfred kneeled in the snow in the woods and felt his body shivering, his breathing fast. Was he really crazy?

He couldn’t think straight. His chest hurt too much.

Was he crazy?

Was he crazy or did the clearing also only appeared for Christmas? It didn’t make any sense.

Nothing made sense. He wanted to scream.

He didn’t complain at all that year. He talked to his relatives and he ate and he smiled and pretended everything was normal.

Christmas came and went and Alfred kept feeling anxious, like something was missing.

It was all wrong.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 18 ]**

“I’m not going this year,” Alfred told his parents.

They had a fight. An ugly one. There was a lot of yelling, his mother was crying. She kept saying, “You’re ours,  _ours_!”

“You adopted me and I’m your son but I’m my own! I’ll be eighteen in two days! You can’t control me forever! Fuck, okay, I might be fucking crazy, but just let me go to the fucking woods once a fucking year, will you? I’m not hurting anyone!” Alfred yelled back.

“You’re hurting us!” his mother said.

“And you’re hurting  _me_!” Alfred cried back, “I do everything for you guys.  _Everything_. I’m a good son, I do my chores, I never complain about them. All I want is to go to the woods once a year. Just once! I’m doing my best and I know it’s weird and I know I’m not perfect but I just… I’m doing my best…”

His parents decided not to go to New York.

Alfred didn’t talk to them at all until Christmas, and when he left that Christmas Eve his mother was hugging his father and mumbling something and crying.

Alfred followed his path and he almost hoped there wouldn’t be anything at the end of it but there it was.

The clearing.

And Arthur.

He was so sad. His eyes went wide when he saw Alfred. He covered his mouth and then he started to yell. No sound came out of his mouth.

Alfred chuckled and cried. He walked to Arthur and tried to press their foreheads together but he couldn’t because Arthur wasn’t really there, so he just… stood really close to him, staring really deep into his eyes.

He explained he had had to go somewhere else for Christmas the past two years, and Arthur sighed. He talked again and even though Alfred couldn’t hear him, he had a feeling he knew what he meant. _I thought I had lost you_.

Alfred felt the same.

“What are you?” he asked Arthur when it was almost dawn. “Why can’t I find this place when it’s not Christmas? Why are you here? Why?”

Arthur looked down and sighed and disappeared.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 19 ]**

That year Alfred used his sledge again. He took the portable generator, his heater, some boxes. His parents watched him as he took snacks from the cupboards and didn’t say anything. He left before supper.

He had finished high school. He was not a child anymore. He could do whatever he wanted.

So he went to the clearing and he set up the generator and the heater and put a Christmas playlist to play on his phone.

Arthur sat in a log as Alfred took a bunch of Christmas lights from the boxes and started to put them all around the clearing.

“We’re having a proper Christmas this year,” Alfred said. He plugged the lights in the generator and they blinked lazily in whites and reds and blues and greens. Arthur stared in awe and then smiled sweetly to Alfred.

They played chess.

Alfred won for the very first time.

He ate snacks and described what they tasted like to Arthur.

He showed Arthur his new drawings. They were excellent drawings.

Alfred sung along the lyrics.

Dawn came and Arthur went.

Alfred sat there alone for a long time.

“I love him,” he told himself.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 20 ]**

Alfred put the lights up again that year.

He sat with Arthur and as they played chess he stopped and sighed and took the tears from the corner of his eyes.

“I think about you all the time,” he confessed, “I don’t understand what you are or why you’re here and it hurts so much.”

He looked up and Arthur was looking down. “You look exactly the same. You never change,” he thought out loud, “Ever since I was a child, you look the same, like you don’t age. Why?”

Arthur sighed. He said something.

Alfred sighed.

“Are you really not a ghost?”

Arthur shook his head.

“How old are you?”

Arthur shrugged.

“I’m twenty. You’re older?”

A nod.

“Twenty-one?”

A shake.

“Twenty-two?” no “Three?” no “Four?” no “Five?” yes. “You’re twenty-five. Okay. For how long?”

Arthur sighed.

He held both his hands up showing all his fingers.

“Ten years?” Arthur closed his hands and opened them again. “Twenty?” Arthur nodded. “You’ve been twenty-five for twenty years. I’m twenty… is… is it my fault? That you don’t age?”

Arthur smiled sadly.

Alfred knew somehow that it was a yes.

Nothing made sense.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

**[ ALFRED, AGE 21 ]**

Alfred ran to the woods. He held the clock so tight in his hand that it hurt. His chest hurt.

Earlier that day his parents called him for a  _talk_. They said it was important. They looked really nervous and sad. They gave him a blue cloth that was being used to wrap a clock. It was ticking. It was gold and shaped like the Spades card symbol.

He stared at his parents as they explained.

“We didn’t adopt you,” his mother said, “We found you. We found you in a clearing in the woods… we can’t have children. I’m infertile. We prayed and we prayed for a baby, and then we found you… you were our Christmas Miracle… and you were there, small and crying… holding this clock… it… it has a name written in it… So we named you that…” Alfred saw it at the back of the clock: Ælfred. There were tears falling down his cheeks but he couldn’t understand why.

“Whatever it is that is in that clearing, we know it has some connection with you, and we were so afraid it would take you away from us, you’re… you’re  _our_ baby.”

“All those years, you lied to me,” Alfred said quietly. His chest hurt. He didn’t understand. He was so confused.

His mother nodded.

“It was selfish of us, but we couldn’t just risk losing you. We love you too much,” his father said.

“But… we  _are_ hurting you, Al. we can see that. How sad you look… so… I know… something    tells me that if you go today, you’re not coming back, and it scares me, but I know we can’t keep you from it. You’re an adult now. We’ll miss you. We know we’re not the best parents, but… we tried our best.”

Alfred hugged them for a long time. And then he ran.

Arthur was already there. 

“Arthur!” he shouted. Arthur turned to him and Alfred stopped, out of breath, and held up the clock, “What is this?”

Arthur walked to him wide-eyed and placed his hand on top of the clock. Only he actually touched it. He touched the clock and then Alfred’s hand and for the first time, they were touching.

And everything came back to Alfred. His body shivered and goosebumps went down his whole body.

He remembered.

He remembered the war. His kingdom was under attack. He held his clock against Arthur’s forehead and whispered a spell on him: a spell for him to be untouchable, unchangeable. Protected. And then Arthur would do the same for him because as long as both of them were alive, so would Spades be.

Only when Arthur was placing the spell on him, the hall doors were opened suddenly with a loud bang and an arrow flew in their direction.

It stopped in Alfred’s chest.

Arthur screamed.

_Finish the spell!_  Alfred yelled back at him. Arthur was scared and shaking. They were surrounded. Alfred would die.

Alfred held his clock and whispered to himself and his magic combined with Arthur’s. Because he was dying, the spell wouldn’t work on him. So he needed to be frozen somewhere for a bit because as long as he lived the spell he put on Arthur wouldn’t fade. So he would survive. So Spades would survive.

A crack was opened in space.

Alfred looked deep into Arthur’s eyes.  _I won’t die_ , he promised. And then he was gone. Arthur was screaming at him. Something must’ve not gone as it should.

And now he remembered and his Queen was in front of him.

His eyes were watery and he held Arthur’s shoulders tight.

“My queen,” he said.

Arthur sobbed. He wrapped his arms around Alfred.

“You remembered. You remember!” he said, “Every anniversary of your going away… the crack would reopen… I did everything I could but… I needed your magic also… but you weren’t there and then you were… but you were a child… and you couldn’t… couldn’t hear me…” he took a deep breath and parted the hug to look at Alfred’s eyes, “We couldn’t pick a new King because the Clock said you were still with us… I’m so glad…” he hesitantly touched Alfred’s cheek. He was shaking.

“Arthur, the war…” Alfred asked. Arthur shook his head.

“The war is long gone. We won it fifteen years ago,” he smiled. Alfred smiled too.

“Let’s go home,” he said. Arthur nodded enthusiastically. They held hands, the clock between their hands, and as they did the crack was visibly open and they walked through it.

And then they were home. The castle’ halls greeted them and Alfred smiled nostalgically.

Everything was falling into place. He looked to the snowy woods as the crack was closing. He smiled sadly, but he was happy to be back home.

“Christmas,” Arthur said, and Alfred turned to look at him, “We need to have Christmas here now too.”

Alfred smiled and nodded. His head hurt because of all the memories fighting each other in his brain. But he was home. He was fine. He was with his Queen. After so many years… they were together again.

“Merry Christmas, my Queen,” he said to Arthur, kissing his lips.

“Yes,” Arthur smiled to him, touching their foreheads for real this time. “Merry Christmas, my King.”


End file.
